


Secrets, Part One

by lleaflet



Series: Gordon Freeman [2]
Category: Half-Life
Genre: American Sign Language, Eventual Smut, In my universe homophobia does not exist in any way, It's all fun and games until then, Language Barrier, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, Pre-Canon, Selectively Mute Gordon Freeman, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, no violence or such until the very last chapters when the ResCas happens, workplace shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:54:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25819903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lleaflet/pseuds/lleaflet
Summary: Barney Calhoun is a security officer tired to the bone. He has an easy, stable job, a stable income and good colleagues he could call his friends. Life has a routine to it. He has it better than many do. Yet his easy job consists of him fixing squeaky chairs and scientists belittling him. He can't shake the empty feeling stubbornly stuck right in his chest.Gordon Freeman is a freshly graduated theoretical physicist, hailed with honors and plucked from the academic life by recommendation of his old mentor, Dr. Kleiner. Instead of contributing to achievements that could make lasting impacts on the future, his intellect is constantly questioned and he is handed menial tasks, by virtue of not being able to speak but to a handful of people. Somedays he feels like he's not even part of the human race anymore.Chance meetings and vent crawlings borne out of frustration later Gordon finds himself whisked into the security team's social circles.
Relationships: Barney Calhoun/Gordon Freeman, Barney Calhoun/Officer Sezen, Gordon Freeman & Isaac Kleiner
Series: Gordon Freeman [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873141
Comments: 6
Kudos: 69





	Secrets, Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ahillamon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahillamon/gifts).



> Alternate title: Leafy writing the Black Mesa gang as normal human beings doing normal human things.

Barney Calhoun sat at the security checkpoint at the entrance to the Anomalous Materials Lab and listened to his own breathing. His chest expanded as he breathed in, pushing against the security vest he wore, and contracted as he exhaled. A clock on the desk, its hands at 9:52 PM, ticked on in the silence. There was an ache in his neck from the slumped position he sat in, still as a statue. His eyes stared at the email program open on the PC screen. Emails from HR, company wide announcements, some dumb chain mail that was making its second round through the security personnel...

 _Tick, tick,_ the seconds would pass by.

Eight minutes until the end of his shift. Hours had gone by with only the sad withered potted plants and his own reflection in the bullet-proof glass before him as company. He stared at that reflection. Black hair plastered against his scalp from the helmet, a five o’clock shadow on his jaw, the harsh overhead lights casting black holes where his eyes should have been.

Barney, Barney, Barney… Wherever are you heading to, he wondered. _Tick, tick,_ the seconds passed. _Drip, drip,_ his life slid through his fingers.

Why did Black Mesa even need security forces? Nothing ever happened. The worst that happened - usually every week - was that someone would steal someone else’s research uncredited and take the glory for it. Which was a job for, hell, the Black Mesa Scientists’ Supreme Administration Board or someone to sort out.

Meanwhile, Barney would fix the squeaking chairs, the broken buttons and the pesky PC software. Barney would sit alone in the security room of a deserted lab at 10 PM on a Friday night and grow crazy from listening to a goddamn clock ticking on the goddamn desk.

_Tick, tick, TICK!_

He heard the hiss of a door hydraulics and jostled upright in his chair. His shift exchange, Officer Johnson, walked in, pale as a ghost and dead on his feet.

“Hey, Calhoun,” greeted Johnson.

“You don’t look well,” stated Barney.

“It’s Friday night and I’m guarding an empty lab, I’m not really jumping for joy. Christ, I hate night shift so much...”

“Well,” Barney stood up, gathered his things and fastened his helmet. “The chances of anyone stumbling here are less than one percent, so make yourself at home on the couches over yonder and get some shut-eye.”

“You know what, that’s not a bad idea, actually.”

Barney waved him goodbye over his shoulder and stepped out to the vast tram stop hall. His steps echoed metal on the gangway. During day, when the hustle and bustle of people going to and fro and the ever-present facility-wide announcements blared, everything was loud and alive. As Barney stepped to the tram stop to wait for his ride, he listened: to the faint fizz of air conditioning, the creak of the railing as he leaned against it, his own heartbeats. And his own voice nagging at him at the back of his head. _Barney,_ it told him, _Barney, the college dropout with wasted student loan money; Barney, the drifter; Barney, the-_

Barney slapped himself on the cheeks and groaned: "Okay, thank you, point made!"

The tram ride to the security personnel area was uneventful, as was the walk to the shooting range to return his gun, and the walk to the locker room. He greeted the various people returning from their own shifts, and opened his locker.

His helmet and Kevlar vest found their respective places inside. He took off his boots, grimaced at the foul smell of 13-hour sock juice and soaked his feet in the showers.

He sat on a bench drying off his feet when his eyes found the photos on the inside of the locker door. A young woman in her early twenties, smiling, silly, enjoying life. The other officers had long since learned not to tease Barney about it.

He put his boots on and closed the door.

The tram ride to the Sector C dorm area was more of the same: familiar routes, familiar rock formations, conversations with familiar personnel. Uneventful, too, was the walk from the tram stop to the recreational area: predictable and trodden many times before.

He opened the door to a cozy little room with a full-floor carpet, couches, a TV, more withered potted plants, and officers Otis Laurey and Danny Sisk setting playing cards on the TV table. They had the blue shirts and black pants on, but their boots were discarded into a corner and Otis was already missing his black tie.

“No, I’m _telling you_ \- Oh, Barney!” Otis looked up from the cards. “Glad you could make it.”

“Where’s the beer, Calhoun.” Sisk did not look up from the cards.

Barney had his boot in his hand and resisted the urge to throw it at Sisk’s head. “The beer is in the vending machine; Mister Shit Slim Shady is welcome to take his shit feet and haul ass to it.”

The dirty, scrunched up look Sisk threw his way warmed him to his core. Danny Sisk was the driest, sourest man he had had the displeasure of knowing and the higher displeasure of having to give him top marks in his evaluation because he made an excellent goddamn guard (however valuable that was in “spend-your-day-checking-people’s-IDs” Black Mesa). Danny Sisk also had the displeasure of looking like a dress shirt version of Eminem with hair.

“Now, let’s not get ornery, we’ve all had a long day,” Otis tried to defuse the situation.

“Except Mr. High Sec Pass here probably, come from the Advanced Labs to pay his respects to us lowly grunts.” Barney tossed the boot in the corner pile and grabbed the second.

“Do you need a minute, Calhoun?” whipped Sisk.

Otis sighed deeply. Barney yanked off the boot and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He did need that minute, actually. Sisk didn't deserve to bear the brunt of the exhaustion, frustration and boredom that was wearing him to the bone. Their Friday night get-togethers were supposed to be _fun_ , after all.

“I’ll go get that beer…” he muttered, rubbing his neck. Behind him, he could hear Otis: “Oh, speaking of Slim Shady, can you turn on the TV, Danny, I think MTV has music videos on at this hour…”

Barney still couldn’t understand how Otis enjoyed Sisk’s company. Otis was a good, gentle man who loved his mother, wife and two children to death, and Sisk sometimes latched on to all his weak spots with the dry, personal jabs he delivered to everyone. Otis seemed to take it all in stride, though, and could answer with quips of his own.

Barney made it to the doorway when he had to jump back to avoid being hit in the nose by a metal food tray coming in at eye level. The tray, covered by a cloth and held up by one large hand, was followed by a broad, muscular chest clad in a blue dress shirt.

“Barney!” came the greeting of a low, gruff voice.

A grin took over Barney’s features as he looked up. “Hasip! Hey, dude,” he gave the man a fist bump on his free hand.

"Finally released from securing a door, eh? Get your feet up, you look like you need it," Sezen patted him on the shoulder and navigated past him into the room.

Barney huffed with a smile. Officer Hasip Sezen was a big man, in all meanings of the word: he was tall of stature, held the unbeatable bench pressing record of Black Mesa with his brother, filled the whole room with his presence, could fit so many people in his life and was Barney’s dorm mate and best bud.

"What have you made this time?" Sisk pointed at the tray Sezen carried.

Sezen set it on the table ("Not on top of the cards, Hasip!" wailed Otis), grabbed the cloth and pulled. On the tray was a generous serving of golden-colored cookies, each topped with an almond - freshly baked, if the scent was of any indication. " _Voilà_."

"Ooh!"

"Laurey, leave some for the rest of us."

"Shush, Sisk, they're meant to be eaten."

"Hey, I remember these," Barney noted. "Weren't they bad last time?"

Sezen chuckled into his short, thick beard. "Ah, last time the cafeteria had no semolina, and it's vital to making successful şekerpare. Mrs. Davis was generous enough to place in an order of semolina for me, though."

Barney chuckled incredulously. "You sure we talking about the same Mrs. Davis? I'm surprised she didn't chase ya out with a soup ladle instead."

Sezen stroked his beard with a mischievous glint to his eye. "Let's just say she loves a big guy in her kitchen covered in flour."

 _I sure wouldn't mind seeing that scene either_ , thought Barney as he watched Sezen loosen his tie and unbutton the two upmost buttons of his shirt. Now that he mentioned it, there indeed were traces of white smudges here and there on his clothing.

"Mmmm! It melts on my tongue!" Otis exclaimed happily around a cookie.

Sisk sighed and inspected the tray closely. "Well, you didn't give us food poisoning last time, so…"

Sezen took one şekerpare and shoved it at him. "Quit griping and stuff a cookie in your mouth. And if you insult my great-grandma's recipe, I swear…"

Barney tuned out the conversation as he headed for the vending machines and chuckled to himself. He had an easy, stable job, a stable income and good colleagues he could call his friends. Life had a routine to it. He had it better than many did. Why couldn't he fill the empty space inside him, then?

* * *

“Okay, fellas!” Otis took the deck of cards and shuffled it with deft, practiced hands. “It’s time to play! Team up, now!”

Barney groaned and pried his eyes from the music video on the TV. “Why don’t we ever play poker? You know, a big boys’ game.”

Otis smiled. “Oh, sure, go join the dummies at Sector B and play brainless poker with them. Bridge requires intellect.”

“Which you severely lack,” Sisk, from across the room, quipped at Barney, who gave him a grimace.

Sezen rose to his feet from the couch next to Barney. The ceiling light framed him in a halo and colored him like a dark, large and looming shadow from Barney's point of view. He stepped to the low table Otis occupied and plopped himself on the floor, setting his can of beer on the wood with a loud _‘conk’_. “I propose Barney and Sisk make a team. You’ve been at each other's throats all evening now.”

“Oh great…” Barney stood up as well and took his place at the table, Sezen and Otis at his either side. Sezen cleared out the remains of the cookies while Otis dealt each player thirteen cards. Sisk dragged himself to the table across Barney.

“Alright,” Barney stretched his neck. “Let’s do this. This time Otis’ win streak is going down.”

“Do I have to carry you to victory?” he heard Sisk’s voice like a buzzing little mosquito in need of a good whacking. Barney put his fists on his sides and made a mocking imitation of Sisk: “ _Do I have to carry you?_ ”

Otis put his own fists on his sides as well and made a mocking imitation of Barney’s mocking imitation of Sisk: “ _Do I have to carry you?_ ”

Sezen’s hearty guffaw filled the room, and even Sisk’s stone-walled poker face cracked for a second with the hint of a smile.

Otis’ win streak did not go down that night.

* * *

“Hey, Sisk…”

Sisk blinked his eyes open from the brink of sleep on the couch. His ankles were crossed, as were his arms. His head was nestled against the armrest, squishing a double chin under his jaw. Lights from the TV danced upon his drowsy face.

Barney turned to rest on his side on the floor where he nursed a half-empty can of beer. The sleeves of his stuffy dress shirt were undone and pushed up his arms. In the background, Sezen and Otis kept slamming the table and giggling; they played some sort of card game that relied on reaction speed, and in their inebriated state the rules kept more or less changing every minute.

Barney continued: “How long are you gonna be here?”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Nothing would warm my heart more. _No_ , I meant like, in general.”

Sisk stared at the wall. Not even the flickering fluctuation of shadows and lights could shift his immovable and unreadable face. When he opened his mouth, it was trademark Sisk: “I don’t know.”

“ _Uuuugh_ , you always say that. It’s not like you signed a confidentiality clause on your _future_ when you took up the gig at the Advanced Labs. Lemme guess then: you live and breathe politics, so you're definitely heading there, right?"

"Mm-hmm."

"So what's keeping you from going out there, like, tomorrow, and doing what ya wanna do? Why be stuck down here with us?"

"I get the feeling this is more about you than me, Calhoun."

"No," Barney denied firmly. He fiddled with the can in his hands.

Sezen interjected: "Can you imagine Sisk as a senator, though?"

"As a grey, irate old man among other grey, irate old men? Sure can."

" _Har har_."

Otis' giddy chuckling was rising in volume. "I know what _I'm_ gonna do with my future!"

“You have a lovely wife and lovely kids to go home to, we know," said Barney.

“Uh-huh!” Otis laced his hands atop his stomach. “Millie sent me new photos! Audrey is walking like a pro, I'm telling you!"

"How can you tell from a photo?"

"A papa knows. It's all in the posture."

"Right. You got anything, Hasip?"

Sezen combed his beard in thought. "I am quite content here. Compared to that nightclub bouncer job I had once upon a time, this is leagues better. I get regular leave to see family, too."

"The myriad of dates you have all around Black Mesa probably helps," Sisk commented.

"You should try getting to know people too, Sisk, and you'd see how wonderful it is to make others feel good."

Barney lowered his gaze with a frown. They all had their minds set on something, a purpose to strive for. Or in Sezen's case, happy where they were. No matter how long or hard Barney pondered, all he could come up with for himself were directionless and muddied thoughts. The alcohol probably worked against him there, though.

“And you, Barney?” Otis’ voice startled him. Otis was looking at him, cookie crumbs still stuck in his thick mustache.

Barney traced a thumb along the rim of the can. “Guess I’m still looking,” he muttered.

Otis offered him a sad smile. Behind Otis, Sezen eyed Barney, but said nothing.

* * *

Barney couldn’t stop his ugly laughter as he slumped against Sezen’s warm side, enveloped under a heavy arm.

"And, and then-" Sezen wheezed, "I shit you not, _baba_ grabbed him by the ear and said 'Taner Sezen, you will have me my pants back or so help you god!'"

"So dad was stuck there in his underwear?"

"In his bright neon comic hero briefs, no less!"

The two staggered across the barracks courtyard above ground. Darkness had fallen across the land, and the moon and the Milky Way shone bright. Otis and Sisk had headed to their own respective dorms, leaving Barney and Sezen alone. Only a few stragglers were seen here and there, mostly wasted as well.

Barney's cheeks hurt from all the smiling. Nights in the desert always had a nip to them, but he couldn't feel the cold. His body was abuzz with pleasant tingles from the alcohol and from the heat Sezen radiated next to him. He thought of nothing else but the enthusiastic tale Sezen was spinning.

Except now that he mentioned thoughts, of course he would think about the hollow feeling he had had all day. All week, if being precise.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

"So then he- Hm? Hey, what's up?" Sezen brought them to a halt at the steps to their dorm.

Barney let out a huff that sounded more like a growl. "I'm just… tired of being yelled at by condescending scientists, you know? Like, why the fuck do I even do this? The pay isn't nearly nice enough to keep me putting up with this bullshit."

Sezen hummed and let go of Barney to fish out the keys. "I could tell something was bothering you all night."

"And even if the pay was nice enough, I'm not sure it'd be worth this feeling of… I don't fucking know. Like I'm not even _me_. Ugh, why couldn't I just be content, like you are? It's like I'm trying to look for a big meaning to my work, when I should be perfectly happy that I even _have_ a job, and an easy one, at that. There's a line a mile long of people who would take my place in a damn heartbeat."

Sezen turned to Barney. He was standing up on a step, so Barney reached him even lower, to his chest. His expression smiled, but he couldn't keep hidden from Barney the sad tone his voice had: "Sounds like you've grown bored of working here."

Barney felt his whole being deflate. He let his forehead fall against Sezen's stomach. Sezen patted his head.

"Should we go to sleep?" Sezen offered. "Tomorrow is a day off."

"Mm-hmm."

"Do you want a hug?"

"Mm-hmm."

“Do you want it now?”

“Mm-hmm.”

"Alright, then."

Now, there were hugs, and then there were _Sezen’s_ hugs. His arms came round Barney, and it was like a cocoon of soft skin and hard muscle had been draped upon his shoulders. He sighed and stood on his tiptoes to smoosh his face between Sezen’s firm pecs. Sezen’s chest shook with a low chuckle and he rubbed circles in Barney’s neck.

The door of the dorm house next to them opened, and Barney heard the flick of a lighter.

“Hey, neighbors.”

“Hey, Rodriquez,” Barney and Sezen answered.

“Had a fun night, huh?” Rodriquez’ voice came from between teeth, and Barney could already see the cigarette in his mouth, the chain smoker that he was. “Can you try to be quiet tonight, I'm feeling sick and I need what little sleep I can get.”

Sezen laughed, released Barney with a pat on his shoulders and told Rodriquez: “If you snubbed the cigs, maybe you’d feel less sick.”

“Aye, you say that every time.”

“And still you never quit.”

Rodriquez shrugged with a dodgy look.

“Okay, in we go,” said Barney and urged Sezen towards the door. “I need sleep, too.”

“ _Quiet_ sleep, please,” Rodriquez emphasized.

That night, as Barney awaited sleep in his bed, Sezen already snoring away in his, he wondered what tomorrow might bring. As he had done the night before, and the night before that. Tomorrow was always a new day, but he feared one day he would run out of them and realize he’d wasted them on idleness.

He’d figure things out. Tomorrow was a day off, after all. He’d have time.

**Author's Note:**

> That one guard model in Black Mesa looks kinda like Eminem, don't you agree? The easter egg tape in Dr. Horn's secret lab in Xen in Black Mesa mentions officers Sezen and Sisk, hence the inspiration for these characters.
> 
> For the coming chapters, I recommend you read the previous one-shot part of this series, A Pervasive Silence. It has insight to Gordon's character and acts as a prologue to this story.
> 
> Big and huge kisses to my beta, Ahillamon, without whom this chapter would have never seen the light of day.


End file.
